


When Dwarves Go A-Courting

by Porphyrios



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bees, Courting Rituals, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Erotica, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hobbit Courting, Hobbit Culture & Customs, M/M, Oral Sex, Poetry, Scary Old Ladies, The Shire, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:47:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27230716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porphyrios/pseuds/Porphyrios
Summary: Thorin had appeared in the Shire desperate to reclaim the hobbit who had stolen his heart.  Bilbo welcomed him back, and he chose to court according to hobbit customs, little suspecting what he had signed himself up for.  And since when was Thorin expected to write poetry, anyway?
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 33
Kudos: 188





	When Dwarves Go A-Courting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tamloid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamloid/gifts).



> So this work is the result of a challenge issued by @Tamloid to turn the situation of Bilbo Finds His Craft around to a Thorin-in-the-Shire fic. This was tremendous fun to write, and I hope you folks enjoy! I didn't find the villanelle nearly as infuriating to write as Thorin did, but then again, I suppose 'Westron' is my thing :D
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are loved!

"Thorin, really, this isn't as complicated as you are making it out to be," Bilbo said with a huff. He turned and peered into the looking glass, adjusting his waistcoat, setting his cravat at a jauntier angle and eyeing himself critically. The dwarf leaned glowering against the wooden doorframe in Bilbo's bedroom. Thorin would never admit it to his beloved hobbit (he had come all this way just to court him, after all), but he always felt slightly too large in Bag End. It was odd for a dwarf, with low ceilings and small furniture, everything built just that touch too small for him. Dwarves went the other way, if anything; even their poor halls in Ered Luin had high ceilings and wide walls, deep thrones and broad tables. Here everything was a bit... well, a bit dainty and fiddly and not at all what a dwarf, especially a king among dwarves, would expect. "We simply have to attend the social season together, and then have a tea of our own. You have to recite a poem that you wrote in front of my family, and then we can get officially engaged." He eyed Thorin's reflection in the mirror. "That is what you still want, isn't it?"

"Of course it is!" Thorin replied grumpily. "But _ghivashel_ , it is exactly that complicated! I have attended four of these parties with you already. I have been eyed, interrogated, and subtly mocked by every female hobbit in the Shire over 'a certain age'," Thorin rolled his eyes at Bilbo's approving expression when he remembered the appropriate phrase, "and, I might add, half of the young remainder... and yet you insist we have five more to go! Five! For all your fussing about dwarven courting, this is a hundred times more tedious than contracts, ceremony and feasting." Bilbo sighed, nodded at himself in the glass and turned on Thorin, staring him up and down with a critical eye. "And worst of all..."

"I still say that coat is quite the loveliest thing I've ever seen you wear," the hobbit interrupted him in a distracted tone, sweeping invisible dust off the nap of the long Durin blue velvet coat. "It matches your eyes, it sets off your unfairly gorgeous hair, and I'm half-tempted to tell you not to wear it because I'll be driving half the denizens of Hobbiton away from you with a stick when they see you in it." Small, deft fingers dug at Thorin's shirt collar, adjusting how it was laying in the coat in question and the dwarf sighed in exasperation.

Thorin roared "Mahal bugger my coat! Worst of all is that I don't know anything about hobbit poetry and yet you're telling me I have less than two months to..." Bilbo glared at him furiously and cut him off.

"I should hope you won't use that sort of language at this party!" The hobbit snapped. "Or in front of... well, anyone else, really. This isn't some drunken, dwarven carouse! We are going to Marigold Hornblower's high tea, and I will thank you to remember _all_ your manners, Master Dwarf." Bilbo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have books on poetry I can give you, Thorin; you told me that you used to compose songs, so you can't convince me that you will have too much trouble with it. Now just... come along, and try not to bite anyone." Thorin left unsaid his objection that those songs were silly, his composition of them had been over a century before, and that most of them had been drinking songs and in Khuzdul to boot. Bilbo leaned forward and, with a kiss to the tip of Thorin's nose that left the dwarf feeling warm in the pit of his belly in spite of his exasperation, his hobbit led him down the hall and out the door.

The tea party was every bit as horrific as Thorin had feared; he knew mostly what to expect by now, having attended several of these painfully uncomfortable events. Sitting around on spindly furniture which was dainty and fiddly even by the standards of the Shire, as usual he felt like a war boar in a nursery. This particular parlor was especially deadly to the unwary, being lined with shelves full of fragile and delicately balanced knick-knacks so that even a misplaced elbow or hand was courting disaster. Hunched next to Bilbo on a two-person loveseat upholstered with cream fabric, he wasn't sure that orcs could torture someone more effectively. Even so, with a delicate bone china cup of tea held in one massive, square hand, he answered the day's infinite variations on the question "So what brings you to the _Shire_ then?" with as much diplomacy and patience as he could muster. The looks he was getting from the stern old hobbit matrons in their severe dresses made him long for dwarrowdams like Dis who would just hit him with a mattock if he was irritating. Dwarves had plenty of social rules, but nothing like... all _this_. He and Bilbo were seated with several other courting couples, and the only thing that made these events even vaguely bearable was that even the other hobbit men present with their beaus looked just as stiff and uncomfortable as he felt.

One of the elderly hobbit women (what was her name, he thought desperately... Iris? Celandine?) seated nearby leaned over, smiling... more or less smiling, at any rate, Thorin thought warily. Her crooked teeth were bared, but he'd seen friendlier expressions on goblins. "So Master Dwarf," she twittered, "it's so _interesting_ to see one of your people here in the Shire!" Bilbo stiffened beside him in the seat, so Thorin could only assume this wasn't a positive statement. "However did you meet our dear Mister Baggins?" He glanced over hoping for a clue as to how to respond, but Bilbo's clenched jaw and narrowed eyes told him nothing but a tale of discomfort.

"Bilbo was kind enough to travel with my group to assist me with some... family difficulties. We became close on the trip," Thorin said, trying to remember what exactly these people were supposed to know about the trip to Erebor and all the events thereof. In truth, he was still confused himself, some days. He barely remembered the days between the death of the dragon and the war. Lying insensible and close to death after the battle, Thorin had been unconscious when Bilbo fled with Gandalf, unable to face the prospect of Thorin dying in front of him. They had both only begun to hint to each other about feelings deeper than companionship and battle-bonds before, well, everything had gone horribly awry with the gold sickness and the orcs and the innumerable unpleasantnesses that resulted from their 'triumph' at Erebor. When he healed well enough to travel, he barely stayed long enough to sort out the first waves of immigrants from the Iron Hills before leaving Fili as regent under Balin's capable guidance and traveling to the Shire to reclaim a heart stolen unexpectedly by his company's burglar. Since his arrival things had been... 

"Oh," the ancient hobbit said with an elaborate show of interest, "how fascinating! I can't imagine what use a hobbit would be outside the Shire, we tend not to travel. Even so, it would seem that he clearly made a very good impression, for you to be here with us now." She pursed her lips and blinked her eyelids rapidly at him, apparently trying to appear coquettish but actually only adding to her air of being generally terrifying. Thorin nodded and smiled and tried not to let his distaste for the woman show on his face, but it was a close call. She really did remind him a bit of an orc, now that he thought about it. If she were put in a battle with Azog, he wasn't sure which side his money would be on at this point.

"Yes," he replied gravely, "the very best impression. He is quite remarkable, is our Mister Baggins." He sipped his tea, ignoring Bilbo's sudden attack of coughing from beside him. As the older woman smiled and turned abruptly to bedevil the young hobbit on her other side, he cut his eyes over at Bilbo who was staring fixedly into his teacup and clearly trying to resist something... Thorin wasn't sure whether it was laughter or tears. He sighed quietly and wondered how much longer he would be stuck in this damnable room.

=

Later that evening, as Thorin was sitting at the kitchen table in Bag End in much more casual clothes, he looked around and thought simply, _yes_. There was a peace that hung over the Shire in general and this cozy smial in particular that he had never felt. As a child, Erebor had been huge, it had been grand, it had been filled with light and activity and music and crowds, but it had not been peaceful. Their panic-stricken flight through Dunland and across hundreds of miles of inhospitable terrain was less peaceful than most wars; the early years of hardscrabble settlement in the Blue Mountains were many things, but peaceful was not in the list. Thorin didn't remember passing through the Shire the first time, other than being robbed by merchants in Bree with substandard goods for eye-watering prices, but on subsequent visits for trade or smithing the peace of the place began to make itself felt. At the time he thought it a product of an inherent unseriousness in the Shire, as though peace was only an outgrowth of silliness and ignorance of world concerns, but now... now it was like a balm to his soul. Not to mention... he looked over to where Bilbo was puttering around throwing together a fruity dough of some sort. In his wildest dreams as a young dwarf (insofar as he thought about it at all), he assumed that love was like a storybook, a flash and bang and roar like fighting dragons or going into battle. Never would he have imagined this quiet, bubbling spring of warmth in his heart, filling him up like water through rock, until he felt full to bursting with a quiet joy that went perfectly with the peace of this green and fertile land. This was not a love of lightning strikes, but a calm certainty that he could stand to be nowhere else, with noone else, until the world ended in fire and darkness.

"I do love you, you know," he said softly, prompting Bilbo to stop and turn around, a shy smile playing around the hobbit's lips.

"I do know that," Bilbo said, lips quirking up into a mischievous grin. "You'd never have faced Iris Bracegirdle for me if you didn't." He scampered over quickly and pressed a kiss to Thorin's bearded cheek before returning to his baking. "And a brave warrior you were, too. Many an unwary hobbit has fallen beneath those teeth, but you emerged unscathed."

"Was that her name?" the dwarf asked with a shudder. "She looked like a goblin. I was afraid she'd bite me."

"You'd have died on the spot, I fear. Her venom is legendary," Bilbo giggled, seemed to fight it and then finally gave a proper belly laugh which prompted the same from Thorin. Wiping his eyes delicately, the hobbit set his work carefully into the oven slot on the hearth before turning. "I know you're tired of me apologizing but... I do know this is hard for you, Thorin. It means more to me than I can say that you would come here and honor the traditions of my people just to court me." He sat down next to Thorin, and the dwarf felt cool fingers smoothing down his hair. This, he thought. I would fight the dragon and go to war again just for this. Bilbo sighed and went on. "I never dreamed that I would be doing these things myself, let alone that I would be lucky enough to have someone I... I loved in this way to do them with. It means a great deal to me," the hobbit said in a reedy voice, and with a final kiss to Thorin's cheek he said wetly "Please excuse me for a moment," and ran off into the back. Sighing, Thorin levered himself out of the seat and eased down the hall.

Bilbo was hiding in his room, crying quietly. Thorin stepped inside and wrapped his arms around the shivering hobbit, " _Azyungel_ ," he murmured, then stopped and just held him, nose pressing into soft dark blond curls. One thing he had learned from a long and bitter life - comfort often required no words. Bilbo began crying in earnest when his face was pressed into the linen of Thorin's shirt but it didn't last long. Slowly the quivering stopped, and when Bilbo had begun to pull away and wipe at his face, Thorin smiled and looked down. "Words cannot express how much I want to bring you joy, my heart. I am here, and I will be with you unless you send me away." Bilbo smiled up gratefully, eyes puffy and red. The tip of his nose was red too, and Thorin thought it quite the cutest thing he had seen.

"I can't imagine sending you away, Thorin. I'm so sorry to be such a soppy old thing; you must think me quite mad. I just... I'm so happy that you are here and then the memory of seeing you lying in that bed comes up and... and..." he turned away with a choked sob and Thorin sighed, running a hand along Bilbo's curls.

"I'm here. I lived. I am fine, _ghivashel_. And if it helps, think of it this way; I have been through loss and pain and war, madness and dragons and lain near death, just to be here for you. And for those reasons, I do not fear Iris Bracegirdle." Bilbo's shocked laugh was bright and clear, seeming to surprise even him. Thorin looked into his eyes, shining blue drilling into hazel ones, willing the hobbit to understand. "And I would do it all again, every agonizing moment of it, just to be here with you. You complete me." With that, he kissed Bilbo's eyes, nose, and softly on the lips, then stepped back.

"I... Green Lady, Thorin, the things you say," Bilbo gasped breathily. The moment stretched before the hobbit suddenly got a vacant look then gasped again in quite a different tone. "My scones!" Chuckling, Thorin followed him back to the kitchen.

=

As the weeks slid by, and more horrible parties came and (all too slowly) went, Thorin was wrestling with the concept of hobbit poetry. Bilbo remained dismissive of his concerns, insisting at one point "It's not as though I'm expecting a villanelle, Thorin, just a few verses are fine!" Very well, Thorin thought, clearly the villanelle (whatever that is) is the pinnacle of the form, therefore that is what is appropriate. I will do no less for my hobbit, and I can do no less as a king. Taking one of Bilbo's wax note tablets, he began the process of trying to figure out the exceptionally fiddly rules for that particular style. Westron was not a language that he naturally thought of composing in, and unlike dwarven poetry with its emphasis on alliteration, cleverly varying rhythm and internal rhyming games, hobbit poetry seemed more focused on things like end rhymes and meter. When he first read the requirements for his chosen form he almost backed down. That can't even be possible, he thought, how could anyone write something worthwhile in such a contorted fashion? Even after reading the examples in the book he thought it quite the most needlessly complicated thing he had ever seen... then thought again about close, dark rooms full of delicate and fragile things, placed so as to be a test of the balance and sensitivity of guests, and nodded in unwilling understanding. Oh, he sighed, of course. The complexity and unnecessary frilliness is the point. Because of course it is.

Occasionally Bilbo would come across him where he sat in the study, counting syllables on his fingers or staring off into space, and Thorin would subconsciously brace to be mocked. It would be a very dwarven reaction, and almost two centuries of training was a hard thing to overcome. Instead, the shy, delighted grin Bilbo would give him would warm him down to his toes and give him the motivation he needed to continue. Once, when he got halfway through something he thought would work and realized that he had backed himself into a corner, he growled in frustration and threw the tablet across the desk. Bilbo stepped over to him and whispered in his ear "Anything you do will be perfect, Thorin, because it comes from you. Stop worrying." The kiss he got after that distracted him quite nicely from any more thoughts of poetry for the day.

The night before Bilbo's tea party, Thorin was tossing and turning in the bed. He had a poem he thought was worthy, and he should have been sleeping soundly, and yet. Somehow the idea of standing up in front of all those disapproving old faces and reciting something he had written was as terrifying as going into battle. Cursing himself for being silly, he flipped and flopped in the bed before finally sitting up and lighting the lamp again. It seemed sleep wasn't in his destiny, and he had learned from painful experience that laying about wasn't likely to change his body's opinion of the subject. Better to occupy his idle hands and let whatever was bothering him speak in its own time than lie around frustrated and furious. He took his tablet and went to sit in the window, staring out at the darkness of night in the Shire. He remembered the first time he had seen Bilbo, truly seen him, without any of the baggage of the quest or Gandalf's odd behaviors or frustration with the hobbit's utter inability to be a dwarf (something Thorin still occasionally abused himself for, knowing how many foul things he said and thought during that time for precisely that unreasonable expectation). But after their embrace on the Carrock, when they reached Beorn's house and Thorin had seen Bilbo walking amazed among the giant flowers and bees, filthy, thin, and bedraggled but so swept up in wonder that he glowed in the sunlight... that was the precise moment that his heart was lost, though it took him ages to realize. From that moment forward, Thorin's heart had a hobbit-shaped imprint on it, and had ever since.

Just the thought of that image made words appear in the dwarf's mind. Seizing his stylus, he scribbled them as fast as they came. For once, there was no effort - everything flowed from beginning to end all of a piece, and after changing a word here and there and quickly checking the meter, Thorin set it aside. After that he slept like a babe.

The day of the party dawned and Bilbo was practically frothing. Everything had to be just so, and the cleaning of already clean china and rooms almost drove the dwarf to distraction. Bilbo had practically bitten him three times by lunch, apologized over food for being in such ill humor, and then promptly took his head off five minutes later. Finally the hobbit told him to go away until the party. Resisting his urge to argue, Thorin sighed and then went to hide in his room. Once there, he went over his poem a final time. Amazingly, it seemed even more what he wanted to say in the light of day. Smiling, he prepared a copy on paper for the party and then changed.

As the guests arrived, he noticed with relief that it was a somewhat different and smaller crowd than the faces that he had come to expect (if not dread). These were Bilbo's kinswomen, not the assembled dowagers of the Shire, and several of them had already been both kind to Thorin personally and supportive of his interest in their relative. Playing his part, he welcomed them and joked in a very restrained fashion with Primula Baggins, nee Brandybuck. Her husband Drogo (who Thorin quite liked) was of course not invited to such a thing, but she began telling Thorin of her husband's newfound passion for fishing which the dwarf found quite odd. Once the tea and a profusion of fiddly little cakes had been served, Thorin stood in front of the group.

"As you know," he said, putting on the voice he usually used to address councils in Erebor, "my time here in the Shire was occasioned by a particular reason." He cast a warm glance at his hobbit where he sat looking both awkward and hopeful. "During our recent travels together, I found myself becoming quite attached to Bilbo. We went through many trials together on our trip... many experiences which I am told quite justify the Shire's opinion of adventures," which got a chuckle from the crowd and a raised eyebrow from Bilbo that promised mischief in the future. "There was one particular moment, though, when I knew that the Mister Baggins I had come to value so highly was... special to me, in a way that I had never before known." The assembled women cooed and Bilbo was blushing to the roots of his hair. Thorin smiled and went on. "We were staying with a friend in his unusual home. Many of the stories I could tell of this place would likely be taken as tall tales, but among other things, he had a garden of surpassing size and a wide variety of flowers. When I saw Bilbo, in spite of his exhaustion from the journey, still consumed with joy at the sight of such beauty, he took my heart from me. He holds it to this day." He stepped over to where Bilbo sat as he had been told was the thing to do; a tiny part of him hoped furiously that he was doing this right and not making a tremendous mess of it, but the faces of the women in the room were glowing so he must not be doing too poorly. "Bilbo, with this verse, I would ask you to marry:

_When first you smiled before the dawn's pale grey  
No thought had I of flowers in their field  
And yet the bees went flying on their way._

_The animals slept still at sun's first ray  
Though blossoms all their sweetest scents did yield  
No honey could compete with you, I say._

_You held me tranced as hours slipped away  
While night-furled flowers slow and sweet unsealed  
And yet the bees went flying on their way._

_My love was true ere dusk relieved the day  
For you were all my heart desired, revealed  
No honey could compete with you, I say._

_I saw you dance among the colors gay  
Soft chimed my heart with bells that gently pealed  
And yet the bees went flying on their way  
No honey could compete with you, I say._

When Thorin finished reading, no-one moved. Bilbo was sitting and staring at him, slack-lipped and staring, face almost glowing crimson. The dwarf cast a covert glance around and all of the women present had roughly the same expression on their faces. Several were sweating and damp looking, hands tightly clenched around teacups or fans. Just as he was about to throw the paper down and make a run for it, Bilbo cleared his throat and stretched out one hand, taking Thorin's in it.

"I... thank you Thorin, that was... yes. Of course I accept you, and marrying you is all I have wanted for quite some time now." Bilbo's voice was a bit choked and his hand was gripping the dwarf tightly. Small rustles and sounds from behind him testified to the women getting themselves together from... from what, the dwarf wondered in confusion. The rest of the party passed quickly, everyone standing and making strained excuses and fleeing in all directions. No sooner had the last guest left than Thorin turned from the door to an armful of hobbit.

"What..." he asked hurriedly before Bilbo was practically climbing him like a tree, hands clutching at Thorin's shoulders and pulling him up the length of the dwarf's body, pressing a very distinct erection against him through two sets of clothes.

"Bedroom, now," he was instructed tersely. The dwarf had no intention of arguing, but let Bilbo drag him down the hall of Bag End and into the master bedroom where small hands began divesting Thorin of his clothes as quickly as possible. Head spinning, he fell onto the bed behind him as Bilbo pushed him, climbing on top of him almost immediately. The whole time Bilbo was muttering "Bees... bloody _honey_... can't believe... sounding like _that_... no warning...desperately unfair..." Within minutes, Bilbo was kissing a line down Thorin's naked throat and across his chest, leaving a feeling like fire behind his lips. Small, sharp teeth bit at his nipples and the king arched off the bed, panting. He had dreamed of taking Bilbo to bed, certainly, and they had shared many pleasant interludes where hands had wandered, but this was far beyond their previous experience. Bilbo's hand plunged into Thorin's pants, emerging clutching his sizable erection. Before the dwarf could even react, the hobbit's mouth was on it, bobbing up and down with a delicious warmth that made him cry out in spite of himself. Fighting not to spend immediately, he reached down to slide the unbuttoned waistcoat and shirt off of soft white shoulders. Running his fingers over and over through the brownish blond curls before him, he realized he was coming seconds too late to do anything about it. With a hoarse shout he came undone into a mouth that barely paused, sucking fiercely until Thorin was hunching and pulling away, overcome by sensations that were suddenly far too intense.

He looked down the bed into lust-blown hazel eyes. The sight of Bilbo's swollen, reddened lips and spit-streaked face made him growl, and he hauled the hobbit bodily up the bed, peeling off his trousers as he went. He licked his way through the sparse pubes there, along the creases of Bilbo's groin, along his bollocks, savoring the cries coming from above him. Finally, slowly, he licked his way up the proud column of flesh and slipped down over the end. "Thorin!" Bilbo called, and he hummed delightedly, noticing the way that his hum seemed to make the hobbit in his hands and mouth spasm with pleasure. Interesting, he thought, and did it again to similar results. Bilbo came almost immediately, clearly still overwrought by whatever had happened during the party, and Thorin slid up the bed to take the newly exhausted hobbit into his arms. If I had known, he thought happily, how much better this would feel when we were both naked, I might have done this sooner.

"Now," he said softly, trailing kisses up Bilbo's cheek from his chin to the corner of his eye, "mind telling me what that was about?" Bilbo's breathy chuckle made his cock twitch again.

"That poem... Mother of Trees, Thorin, you never gave me any hint that it would be so..." one small hand rose and fell limply. Bilbo finally rolled over to peer down into Thorin's eyes. "It was... bees are considered risque enough in the Shire. Have you ever seen them at a flower, the way they dig and work themselves in? Just bees would be bad enough, but 'no honey could compete with you'?" Bilbo laughed even as Thorin realized with a sinking feeling that perhaps he didn't know as much about hobbits as he should have. "Everyone will probably be scandalized later because you basically implied that we were fucking," he whispered the word and Thorin was astonished that Bilbo even knew it, "from the first moments of our courtship. But first they had to go and, ahem, take care of business. I do not doubt, Thorin Oakenshield, that you have made many hobbits surprised but happy men this afternoon with your poem. Everyone could hardly wait to get home." Bilbo giggled softly. "And since everyone thought we were, well, we might as well, don't you think?" He leaned down and pressed a kiss into Thorin's beard. "I love you desperately, you know. I can't wait to be married to you." Thorin knew there were more conversations to be had but at the moment, all that could wait.

"I can't wait either, _ghivashel_. You truly are more sweet than honey." The kiss he received in return was worth every bit of frustration he had endured.


End file.
